TCOT Midlife Crisis
by Captain Weirdo
Summary: After she was acquitted on murder charges, Della and Perry left the courthouse with Paul Jr. What happened after that?
1. Chapter 1

_Thanks to everyone who reads, comments and discusses these characters with me. You feed my ego, improve my writing and sometimes smack me upside the head. It's all good. These aren't my characters, but I have a lot of fun with them._

Perry Mason pushed his way into the hotel room with an exasperated sigh. He dropped his jacket on a chair near the door, then dropped himself on to the deep sofa. Elbows on knees, head lowered, he stared morosely at the carpet pattern.

"Damn," he muttered. "Damn it all to hell!"

The evening had not gone according to plan. Not at all.

After several minutes, he got to his feet and shed his tie and suit coat on the way to the bathroom. The small buttons of his white dress shirt slowed his progress, but within a few minutes needles of hot water beat his body. Palms flat against the still cool shower tiles, head bent forward, he breathed the steam and let the water run down his hair, into his face. For a moment it seemed as if he could hear her voice. Eyes screwed tightly shut to keep the water from getting in or out, he willed that fantasy out of his mind.

He stood like that a long while, then soaped his body and shampooed his hair. Enveloped in fragrant steam as he finished, he felt more relaxed. The mirror reflected eyes slightly reddened with shadowy circles beneath. The tangled mess of hair was still dark but with a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper throughout. Perry rubbed his palms across his cheeks - the new beard had started to soften.

The facial hair was a response to his current secretary's commentary - a disapproving harrumph - the Friday he came in unshaven after a long night of research in the law library. She had a talent for subtle censure and her reaction motivated him to forego the activity for the entire weekend. By Monday morning the beard filled in enough to transition from seedy to purposeful. Noticeably more grey than his hair, he hoped it rode the right side of the fine line between distinguished and just making him look older.

'_What does it matter?' _he thought. '_I am old. Might as well look the part.' _The few extra pounds he carried - the beginnings of a middle-aged spread - were at least partially masked by a sizeable frame. The broad shoulders and lean hips ensured his physique rivaled that of a younger man. But the stress of age shown in the lines at the corners of his eyes.

Once combed and dressed, Mason put in a call to room service. As he spoke, he noticed an earring lying on its side, next to the phone. Rolling it in his hand he contemplated the gemstone. He knew the earring well. He'd bought it himself - the first major purchase on a line of credit opened years ago with one of Rodeo Drive's best jewelry designers. His choices, while not extravagant, had always been elegant, classical. Each one marked some special point in his shared life with Della Street.

It had been a long, long time since he'd bought anything there.

Something about the earring niggled at the back of his mind but before he could pin it down Mason's reverie was interrupted. A young man knocked on the door and produced a tray carrying a bottle of expensive whiskey and two glasses. Perry dropped the earring on the table and proffered a sizable tip.

As the door closed behind the departing waiter, Perry contemplated the mated whiskey glasses with a malevolent gaze. He pushed the extraneous glass to one side and filled the other with two fingers of the amber liquid. One swallow emptied the glass, then he smacked it down on the tabletop and settled back into the couch cushions. For a few moments he stared at the opposite wall, then reached for the bottle again. A piece of paper on the floor next to the telephone table caught his eye. He slid down to the end of the couch and retrieved it.

The writing was all too familiar. The cryptic note made far too much sense.

"_2387 - 11:00 a.m. N-S to SFO"_. Years of reading her notes made this one easily decipherable. A reservation for flight 2387, leaving at 11:00 a.m., straight to San Francisco, no stops.

Now he knew what bothered him about the earring - it shouldn't be there. Della had worn the pair at dinner tonight and still wore them when she got into the cab to go home.

He refilled his glass. She had a key to the suite and had been in and out of it several times while they worked on her case. What were the chances that she'd use the key tonight, just in time to catch the call from the concierge confirming the flight reservation he'd requested upon returning from dinner? That would have been all the confirmation she needed that he had no intention of renewing their relationship. Once she'd heard that, there'd been no reason for her to stay, had there?

The more he thought about it, the more it angered him. She'd left as quietly as she had arrived, slipping out before he had a chance to speak to her. She didn't stay to explain her late night visit, much less stick around to talk him out of leaving. Evidently his travel plans suited her just fine. No doubt she'd be glad to be rid of him.

Muttering an unfinished thought about '_reading her damn mind'_, Perry began to pace. After only a few trips back and forth across the carpet, he dropped onto the couch once more. He knew better - knew her better - than that. Fate had conspired to keep them apart again. Maybe he should take the hint. Maybe Della knew better than he did. Maybe she accepted that they just weren't meant to be together.

He eyed the bottle speculatively. Tonight he was going to get drunk. Given that 11:00 a.m. was the earliest flight he could get with an open seat, he'd have plenty of time to pack and get to the airport in the morning. It had been a long time since he'd given in to the temporary oblivion provided by good Kentucky whiskey. Tonight he needed it.

He crumpled Della's note and tossed it into the empty glass.

Although the end of the evening was taking on the character of a wake, tonight was supposed to have been a celebration. Della Street was safe. She'd been acquitted that morning - cleared of all charges in the murder of Arthur Gordon. He'd walked away from his life in San Francisco in order to defend her, and done so with no regrets. He couldn't deny that a spark of hope flared when she called. Hope that maybe time spent working together would change things between them.

She'd been overwhelmed when they met that first morning in jail. She held herself together until convinced her he had no intention of allowing anyone else to handle her case. He watched the relief flood through her, conquering her reserve. Instinctively she leaned on him, physically and emotionally. Despite the awful circumstance, he delighted in the simple joy of holding her close once again. All too soon the moment passed and the business of securing her release began.

Downing his second drink, Mason remembered meeting Della in Paul's office the next morning to begin work on the case. Her warm but subtle expression of happiness at seeing him again - working with him again - caught him off guard. He wished he'd swept her into his arms right then and made her promise never to leave him. Instead, he bit his tongue and turned away, burying himself in his task for fear of saying the wrong thing.

He could face a thousand jurors and a hundred judges and never stumble on a word or a thought. But he couldn't tell the woman he loved how much she meant to him.

'_And whose fault is that?'_ the voice in his head demanded. '_You damn fool.' _

Inside the glass, the dregs of the amber liquid swirled and glinted in the lamplight. He thought back over the past few years of their relationship, or lack thereof. Della had been right - right when she said he needed to slow down, right when she said he was going to end up like Paul Sr. if he didn't stop living at breakneck speed.

It pained him to remember that time. Della made it clear that she needed to do something different. Their lives had been wrapped up together for so long that she needed to make sure of her individual existence. He understood that. She made some vague noises about moving in a different direction and getting involved in business. Her natural acumen for the field far outdistanced his. But that wasn't the real reason she accepted the offer from Gordon Industries.

Perry had seen the signs in the weeks and months leading up to their separation. He just didn't know what to do about it. As he poured a third drink a wry smile crossed his face. '_Who would have thought that of the two of us, Della would be the one to have a mid-life crisis?' _

He left the glass on the coffee table and leaned back against the cushions, eyes closed and fists clenched at his sides. '_It should have been temporary.'_He thought if he gave her space, gave her time to 'find herself' again, then she would come back to him.

They tried to continue their relationship after she left his office, but neither of them was willing to push aside a demanding career to concentrate on repairing the rift between them.

The mutual respect, admiration and hot-blooded sexual attraction their relationship was built on didn't lend itself to lachrymose posturing. He didn't cajole or beg or otherwise try to convince her they belonged to each other. Unfortunately, he also never told her how much he missed her insight and advice... never told her how much he missed _**her**_.

True to form, he consoled himself with work. Within a few short months of Della's professional relocation, a call from the governor's office announced an untimely death which left a vacancy on the Court of Appeals. The open seat was his if he wanted it.

The night he intended to tell her about the new job offer she called him first to tell him she was moving - she'd bought a house. The excitement in her voice as she described the perfect California bungalow caused him to swallow his invitation to come to San Francisco. He tried to be happy for her, but the thought of how much she appeared to thrive in their separation broke his heart. The chance to relocate, both personally and professionally, seemed all too timely.

With barely a thought, he accepted the governor's offer and within a week he'd been appointed to the bench, necessitating a move to San Francisco. Della graciously sent her congratulations along with a bottle of the very whiskey he was gulping down tonight.

Time dulled the pain, but being with her again, working together, brought back the feeling with a vengeance.

He took a drink, then slumped deeper into the cushions.

His life had been on hold for years. He didn't hate his job. The legal puzzles captured his imagination and he enjoyed the hunt for precedence and legal justifications. But when the phone rang and she asked for his help, he'd dropped everything - his job, his obligations, everything - and come running like a labrador puppy, ready and willing to do anything in the world for her.

'_You are pathetic.' _He glowered into the whiskey glass.

What was he going to do now? Would he really just pack up and return to San Francisco? If he did, he knew he couldn't go back to being her long distance friend - just a voice on the telephone and flowers on her birthday. If they weren't together, he had to make a clean break of it this time. He'd have to force himself to get on with life alone.

'_Get on with my life?'_ He snorted derisively at the thought. '_What am I going to do - date?' _He couldn't think of anything he'd rather do less. If he couldn't spend his life with Della, he'd just as soon spend it alone. Even in the darkest recesses of his mind he couldn't make himself believe that there would ever be anyone else for him.

'_Paul got it right,'_ he mused. '_Die with your boots on. They'll find my dead body in the law library some day, in the middle of a stack of law books and a pool of cold coffee.' _The mental picture was not particularly appealing and he washed it away with the last of his third drink.

The thought was immediately replaced with the memory of Paul lying on the pavement, struck down by a heart attack as they sought information on a case he no longer recalled. Paul, gasping for breath, using the last of his strength not to pass on the details he'd learned, but to soothe a tearful Della, asking her to watch over his wife and young son.

In that moment, none of them cared about the case, or the work they were doing. Paul's love for his family and the love between the three friends were the only things that mattered. Everything else was just dust.

Dying with his boots on suddenly lost its already limited appeal.

'_Maybe getting drunk wasn't such a good idea.' _He sat his empty glass on the tray then held his head in his hands. He was so tired. Tired of being alone, tired of hoping, tired of everything. He closed his eyes and lay back on the couch, thoughts drifting back to dinner earlier in the evening.

_A private celebration of Della's acquittal took place at a secluded table in one of LA's finer restaurants. Lunch with Paul Junior immediately following court turned into a bit of a circus when they'd been spotted by a group of reporters who left the courthouse for a lunch break of their own. PIctures and interviews followed, encouraged by Perry who felt the acquitted sometimes don't get their day in the press after their successful day in court. _

_The dinner party was one member short since Paul 'claimed' he was already committed to an extended session at the jazz club with his band and couldn't join them. _

_Della's insistence on meeting him at the restaurant since it was located between her house and his hotel countered Mason's carefully crafted intention to pick her up and was just another sign of her damned stubbornness. Hovering at the hostess' station with ill-concealed impatience, Perry found himself at a loss for words when she finally arrived. _

_Della Street looked gorgeous. Gone were the frumpy business suits in drab colors. Now she wore a satin dinner dress in a ravishing cranberry color - wide in the shoulders, narrow at her waist, with a plunging v-neck that held his gaze prisoner. Instead of the low-key, muted make-up she'd worn lately, her face was vibrant and the deep color of her lipstick accentuated the curve of her sensuous mouth. _

_At that moment he realized something he should have noticed a long time ago. Della had been dressing down - emphasizing aptitude and proficiency rather than showcasing her vitality and charm. It wasn't a look she'd adopted just for the trial. She'd worn this mask for the past several years of working for Gordon Industries. _

_Mason pondered the reasons behind it as they began their meal. Della, more lively and rested than earlier, peppered him with questions about San Francisco and his job on the bench. Still dumbstruck by her appearance and more than a little threatened by his own visceral response to it, he managed only marginal participation in the verbal intercourse. _

_Conversation slowed after a while and the silences lengthened. Eventually the waiter approached with a bottle of very fine champagne. He presented it to Della with a small flourish and said "From the gentleman," indicating a table in a far corner. _

_Della smiled welcomingly at the man seated there while the waiter poured two glasses. The man rose and made his way to their table. Perry recognized him as Roger Westmoreland - a titan of the Los Angeles business community. _

"_Della!" His voice was warm as he greeted her. "Congratulations! I was so relieved when I heard the news." _

"_You think YOU were relieved," she quipped. She introduced him to her lawyer and graciously accepted his compliments before offering him a chair. He sat, much to Mason's displeasure. Westmoreland all but ignored the attorney and focused his attention on the woman. _

"_Acquittal agrees with you," he said with a grin. "You look fantastic, Della." She smiled her thanks. _

"_I know this is may not be the best time, but I wanted to speak to you before you make any plans." Westmoreland's voice was smooth as a luxury car salesman's. Della merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "There is a place for you in my company, Della. I know the calibre of work you did for Gordon. I want you in my organization." Della started to demure, but he leaned forward, catching her eye. "And there is no 'Paula Gordon' for you to placate in order to keep your job." _

_Mason tensed, unconsciously tightening his grip on the flatware. His angry gaze followed his rival's, waiting for Westmoreland's leering appraisal of Della's physical attributes before jumping to her defense. _

_It didn't happen. Westmoreland's eyes stayed locked on Della's, his expression seemed to ooze understanding and persuasiveness._

"_Honestly, Roger," her use of the man's first name did not slip by unnoticed by her dining companion, "I haven't had a chance to make any plans since Arthur Gordon died. I'm really not sure what I want to do." _

_Mason was busy glaring at the other man and almost missed her glance in his direction. She paused for a beat, almost as if waiting for him. But before he could react, she continued, "I promise to think about this and give you a call later on." _

"_I'll hold you to it," Westmoreland said, getting to his feet. "You still have my number?"_

_Della tapped her forehead. "Still got it." He laughed and gave her shoulder a friendly pat. _

_Mason released his death grip on the butter knife but scowled at Westmoreland's well-tailored back as he returned to his table. The fact that Della had the man's number committed to memory and the effortless way Westmoreland parsed the reason behind Della's recent fashion choices left the attorney seething. _

As he replayed the incident in his head, the intensity of his reaction surprised Perry. He'd wanted to ask her to come home with him. To stay with him. But the words wouldn't come. Was jealousy the reason? Or was it fear that she would say no?

Della certainly hadn't given him any indication of her feelings towards him or Westmoreland after the encounter. Her social skills rivaled those of the Queen Mother and she managed their conversation the rest of the evening without pause or awkwardness. She kept him engaged in light-hearted small talk, but made sure nothing very personal passed between them.

Instead of speaking up when he had the chance or smashing her carefully constructed social barriers, he'd kept quiet and now he sat in a lonely hotel room, working on a smashing hangover.

'_This is not right.' _ He drew in a deep breath, hoping to brush away some of the cobwebs. '_It's not right, and by God, it's not going to end this way.' _Perry scrambled to his feet and grabbed the phone.


	2. Chapter 2

One quick call to the front desk got him a taxi and within a very short time, Perry Mason stood on the front porch of Della Street's suburban bungalow, thumb pressed against the doorbell. After the second long, insistent ring, the woman herself opened the door and stared at him in surprise.

"Hi," she said. Her voice was soft, almost shy. After a moment's hesitation, she opened the door wider and, without another word, walked into the living room. Perry looked over his shoulder to see the cab pulling away, leaving him with no escape and no choice but to enter and close the door behind him.

Della faced him as he came into the room. She took a step towards him, but her expression was guarded and she seemed uncertain about what to do next. Motioning for him to sit, she resumed her seat on the couch. Mason chose the closest chair and perched on its edge, not getting comfortable, not preparing to stay long.

Floundering for a conversation starter, he said, "I know it's only been a couple of hours, but have you given any thought to Westmoreland's offer? Are you going to take him up on it?"

She shook her head.

'_No, she hasn't thought about it or no, she isn't taking the job?' _He wasn't sure and waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't speak, his gaze crept over to the liquor cabinet, damning himself for his indulgence. His head was fuzzy. He knew her so well, yet right now he couldn't read her at all.

Finally, remembering why he'd come, he dug into his pocket. "You forgot your -"

"Earring." she finished for him.

He nodded and held out his hand to reveal the glittering object.

"I probably..." her voice trailed off as she retrieved the piece of jewelry. She held it up and smiled at him. "Sorry - it's a bad habit, but an old one I can't seem to break. I need to either give up earrings or stop talking on the phone." He could hear the nervous undercurrent in her voice.

"That seems pretty drastic." He fell back on an old habit himself. Banter saved them from having to discuss the really important things, such as just how he had come into possession of the item.

Della shrugged, contemplating the earring lying in the palm of her hand. "I'm glad you found it. I couldn't stand to lose this one."

"You wouldn't take the engagement ring, as I remember, so I thought the earrings might suffice," he said.

"I thought so too." Her voice was very quiet. "But I was wrong." She drew in a breath. "That was a long time ago, Perry."

Perry ran a hand over his face, hoping to hide the pain he knew was visible in his expression. He forced a mask of placid unconcern to cover his features. "We were both wrong on a lot of counts, over the years, I suppose."

For a long moment she didn't answer, her attention seemingly captured by the French doors at the end of the room and the dark garden that lay beyond. At length her attention returned to him. "What are you going to do now?" she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. "Me?"

That smile was back - the sarcastic grin that accompanied many a well-placed conversational dart over the years. "You're unemployed, remember?"

"Oh." He chuckled. "Maybe I'll just go fishing."

Her smile turned wistful. "That sounds pretty good, actually."

"Go with me." He spoke the words without thinking, then realized that was what he wanted, more than anything. He straightened and leaned towards her, gazing intently, willing her to understand everything he was asking.

She sat back, as if the force of his will drove her back into the cushions. "I wish..." Her voice trailed away, then she met his gaze. "I wish it was that simple."

"It is simple! You're out of a job, too, remember? Let's go be deadbeats together."

She sighed in exasperation. "Perry, stop. Please. You don't have to-."

"I don't have to what? I don't have to tell you how I feel? I don't have to try to fix things between us one more time? What don't I have to do?" Frustration propelled him to his feet and he threw the resentful words at her as he pounded back and forth across the carpet.

"I'm sorry. I -."

"Don't be sorry!" he yelled at her. She jumped as if she'd been slapped. In all the years they'd been together, he'd never yelled at her. Yelled to her, yelled around her on occasion, but never yelled at her.

"Don't be sorry," he repeated, more calmly. He continued to pace, head down, eyes on the floor. "Don't be sorry for not loving me. You can't control how you feel. But don't expect me to be sorry for how I feel, either."

He heard her strangled gasp, but didn't look up. "You and Paul were my family, Della. He was my brother, you were my lover. And I lost both of you within the span of a year. But I thought you'd be back. I thought if I gave you space, you'd have time to grieve and you'd be able to work out your feelings. It never occurred to me that you didn't love me anymore."

"Didn't love you?" Emotion hardened her voice. "Is that honestly what you believe?"

He stopped at the end of the room and looked over at her. Della sat straight-backed on the edge of the couch. Her hand clutched the upholstered arm so tightly the knuckles went white.

"You honestly believe this -" she gestured furiously "this separation between us happened because _I don't love you anymore_?!" Voice breaking, she got to her feet. "You think I spent night after night, crying myself to sleep because _I don't love you_? You think I turned my back on a job I adored because _I don't love you_?" Her voice rose as she spat out the words, pushing him away with her voice. "It was _because _I love you, you bastard!" She swallowed hard, as if fighting a lump in her throat. "I lost my best friend that night, too. Did that ever occur to you? I loved Paul, just like you did. I hurt when he died, just like you did. But I didn't internalize it. I didn't just longer and harder to block out the pain and the memories."

"Not everyone grieves the same way, Della." His even tone was no match for the rising anger in her voice.

"Your problem, Perry Mason, is that you don't know how to lose. When you lost Paul, you tried to bulldoze your way through the grief, shutting everyone out of your life. You were angry and hurt and well on your way to ending up just like your best friend." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I couldn't watch that any longer. I had to leave."

Perry opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "I didn't want to leave you. But I couldn't save you. If I'd stayed, we'd both been lost."

"What would you have had me do, Della? Wallow in sorrow? Moan and groan and mope around the office?" Perry's tone now matched hers. "I had to do something. I had to fight my way through it. You and I are not the same. I can't wall off my emotions like you do. I can't put them into a box and shove them into a drawer somewhere. I have to fight them out. Maybe I did work too hard or maybe I didn't rest enough. I couldn't. I couldn't do that and stay sane. I thought you understood me well enough to know that."

"I understand you better than you understand yourself!" she said hotly.

"Then why in God's name didn't you say something instead of just running away?" His voice rose again, but he didn't quite yell at her.

Anger flashed in her eyes. "I did say something, you big lug! Over and over I begged you to slow down, to keep out of harm's way." She was yelling by this point. "You were so locked in your own little pity party that you couldn't even hear me!"

Perry shook his head angrily. "Your idea of telling me how much you cared was to walk away?"

"When I heard you were taking the appointment I thought you were finally listening to someone, even if it wasn't me." She continued before he could interrupt. "I know what the doctor told you," she said coldly. "He said if you didn't start lessening your stress, you'd be dead of a heart attack within a couple of years."

"So what if he did?! Isn't that my choice? If that's how I choose to live my life, what's wrong with it?" Even as he said the words, he knew the answer to that question.

"What's wrong with it?!" She was incredulous. "What's wrong with it is that you and I have shared our lives for damn near thirty years and yet you still think that the decisions you make and the way you chose to live has no effect on me!" Della's temper flared, then died. "I couldn't make you understand that if you died, it would have killed me, too."

Perry glared at her, not quite ready to surrender the argument. "You have no idea how I felt, Della. Besides, it's obvious the separation wasn't all that painful for you. I barely heard from you after you left. At first I thought you needed some space. I gave it to you, even though it broke my heart to be away from you. I missed you more than you will ever know."

Taking hold of her arm, he continued, "If you still love me, and this wasn't what you wanted - after all this time, and all that we've been through in the past few weeks - why couldn't you tell me how you felt before now?" His eyes were locked on hers as his arrow hit it's mark.

Wrenching herself free from his grasp, she raged at him. "I was facing a murder charge, Perry! I was looking at spending the rest of my life in prison. Or - or worse! Do you know what it took for me to call and ask you for help? I knew I had no right to ask you that of you and I knew what it would mean if you lost this case." She jabbed his chest with a manicured finger. "You would have carried that guilt with you forever. And still, there was no one else I could trust, so I called you. I did it for purely selfish reasons. I knew what it might cost you."

He tried to speak, but she cut him off. "I may have been selfish in calling you for help, but give me some credit. I knew I'd put you in an impossible position. I certainly wasn't going to make things worse by throwing myself at you."

"Worse?!" Now he was incredulous.

She arched an eyebrow. "And then tonight, when I could - and did - come to you, it was only to find out that you were sneaking out of town without saying a word!"

Perry turned away. For a long moment he stood facing the door, cursing the situation that brought them to this point. When the anger ebbed and he faced her again, he was surprised by the tears glistening on her cheeks. "Damn it, Della! Don't cry! I never know what to do when you cry."

"No matter how much you shut me out and pushed me away, I could never stop loving you." Her voice was a raspy whisper. She swiped at the tears, only to shed more. "I may have stayed away for sanity's sake, but I always loved you." He came to her, reaching for her. In a heartbeat she was in his arms, body pressed to his. He could feel the tears melting into his shirt as he hugged her tightly.

"Della?" His voice wavered, unsure.

"No matter how much it hurt, my feelings never changed." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "But I knew I couldn't sit back and watch you slowly kill yourself. After Paul...I just couldn't do it any longer. You pushed yourself harder than before. I'd seen what that did to Paul. I knew you didn't want to change, but I couldn't stand to see that happen to you, too."

"Della," he said again, his voice almost a whisper. Gently he pushed her away, holding her at arm's length. His expression was unreadable and he seemed to search her eyes for some hidden truth.

After a long moment she ventured a quietly inquisitive "Perry?"

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, defeated. "We are quite a pair, aren't we?"

He sighed and, giving in to his natural need for movement, began to stride back and forth. When he spoke, his voice was brusque and businesslike. "Listen to me, woman. You and I can do anything when we work together. No one is better at what we do. Professionally, we are tops. You can read me like a first grade primer. You know what I'm thinking before I do." He advanced on her and took hold of her shoulders, glaring down at her with a hint of humor shining in his eyes. "But personally? We both definitely have room for improvement."

"What are you suggest-?"

She didn't finish. He yanked her off her feet and pulled her close, crushing his lips to hers. She squirmed, trying to hang on to him. Eventually his grasp relaxed sufficiently to allow her feet to once again find purchase on the floor. Della's fists clenched the cloth of his shirt as she tried to regain equilibrium.

Smiling at her obvious agitation, Perry released the bear hug and took her face in his hands. He leaned in closer, his fingers tangling her short curls before his mouth slanted across hers once again. He tasted her lips, then teased them apart, deepening the kiss as he embraced her body.

When at last they broke apart, she looked up at him, eyes slightly unfocused. For a long moment they stood wrapped in each others arms, resting in the comfort of a familiar and long-absent touch.

Eventually Perry drew her in again, one arm tight around her waist, one hand caressing her cheek. Mere inches from his goal she was stopped him by pressing her hands against his chest, holding him at bay. He cocked an eyebrow at her by way of question.

"You mentioned something about fishing?" she asked, innocently. "I'm available if you're still asking."

Epilogue...

He'd almost forgotten. Almost forgotten the silky texture of the skin of her breasts, the way the curve of her hip fit so perfectly the palm of his hand, and the impossibly sweet tang of her mouth. He had remembered the soft sounds she made, the sound of his name on her lips when the ecstasy trilled through her body. He could never forget the way her back arched at just that moment and how she made him feel like a king in her arms. And then there was that - that thing. He'd never, ever, remembered her doing that to him before. That was... amazing.

His reverie was interrupted by a long low moan of satisfaction. Della stirred from where she'd been dozing, splayed across his broad chest. She slid off of his body and rolled away, coming to lie on her stomach at his side, head pillowed in her arms.

Perry began to stroke her back, running his fingers lightly up and down the cooling skin, tracing the arch that he found so pleasantly stimulating a few minutes earlier.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he growled.

"Do what?" she asked, eyes still closed. When he didn't answer she opened one eye and saw his raised eyebrow and sardonic grin. "Oh, that. Well, I read it in a book. It sort of stuck in my head. Wanted to give it a try ever since."

"You read it? In a book?"

Both eyes open now, she rolled onto her side and looked at him. "Yes, I read it in a book. I had a lot of time on my hands and there's only so much gardening a person can do."

He chuckled and began a trail of kisses, starting at her shoulder and working their way up the side of her neck to her earlobe. Then he whispered, "Think you could do it again?"

The End

_Thanks for the comments/reviews! Y'all are the best._


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